The Fair Penitent
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THE
FAIR PENITENT.
A
TRAGEDY.
THE
FAIR PENITENT.
A
TRAGEDY.
As it is Acted at the
NEW THEATRE
IN
Little Lincolns-Inn-Fields.
By Her MAJESTY's SERVANTS.
Written by N. ROWE, Esq;
LONDON,
Printed for Jacob Tonson, within Grays-Inn Gate next
Grays-Inn Lane. 1703.
Contents (not listed in original)
This work was published before January 1, 1930, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
THE FAIR PENITENT.
ACT IV. SCENE I.
[edit]A Garden. Enter ALTAMONT. 58
ALTAMONT. "With what unequal tempers are we form'd?
"One day the soul, supine with ease and fulness,
"Revels secure, and fondly tells herself
"The hour of evil can return no more;
"The next, the spirits, pall'd and sick of riot,
"Turn all to discord, and we hate our beings,
"Curse the past joy, and think it folly all,
"And bitterness and anguish. Oh, last night!
"What has ungrateful beauty paid me back,
"For all the mass of friendship which I squander'd?
"Coldness, aversion, tears, and sullen sorrow,
"Dash'd all my bliss, and damp'd my bridal bed.
"Soon as the morning dawn'd, she vanish'd from me,
"Relentless to the gentle call of love.
"I've lost a friend, and I have gain'd—a wife!
"Turn not to thought, my brain; but let me find
"Some unfrequented shade; there lay me down,
"And let forgetful dulness steal upon me,
LOTHARIO and CALISTA discovered.
LOTH. Weep not, my fair; but let the God of Love
Laugh in thy eyes, and revel in thy heart,
Kindle again his torch, and hold it high, 59
To light us to new joys. Nor let a thought
Of discord, or disquiet past, molest thee;
But to a long oblivion give thy cares,
And let us melt the present hour in bliss.
CAL. Seek not to sooth me with thy false endearments,
To charm me with thy softness: 'tis in vain:
Thou can'st no more betray, nor I be ruin'd.
The hours of folly, and of fond delight,
Are wasted all, and fled; those that remain
Are doom'd to weeping, anguish, and repentance.
I come to charge thee with a long account,
Of all the sorrows I have known already.
And all I have to come; thou hast undone me.
LOTH. Unjust Calista! dost thou call it ruin,
To love as we have done; to melt, to languish,
To wish for somewhat exquisitely happy,
And then be blest ev'n to that wish's height?
To die with joy, and straight to live again; 40
Speechless to gaze, and with tumultuous transport—
CAL. Oh, let me hear no more; I cannot bear it;
'Tis deadly to remembrance. Let that night,
That guilty night, be blotted from the year;
"Let not the voice of mirth or music know it;
"Let it be dark and desolate; no stars
"To glitter o'er it; let it wish for light,
"Yet want it still, and vainly wait the dawn;"
For 'twas the night that gave me up to shame,
To sorrow, to the false Lothario.
LOTH. Hear this, ye powers! mark, how the fair deceiver 60
Sadly complains of violated truth;
She calls me false, ev'n she, the faithless she,
Whom day and night, whom heav'n and earth have heard
Sighing to vow, and tenderly protest,
Ten thousand times, she would be only mine;
And yet, behold, she has given herself away,
Fled from my arms, and wedded to another,
Ev'n to the man whom most I hate on earth.—
CAL. Art thou so base to upbraid me with a crime,
Which nothing but thy cruelty could cause? 61
If indignation raging in my soul,
For thy unmanly insolence and scorn,
Urg'd me to a deed of desperation,
And wound myself to be reveng'd on thee,
Think whom I should devote to death and hell,
Whom curse as my undoer, but Lothario;
Hadst thou been just, not all Sciolto's pow'r,
Not all the vows and pray'rs of sighing Altamont,
Could have prevail'd, or won me to forsake thee.
LOTH. How have I fail'd in justice, or in love?
Burns not my flame as brightly as at first?
Ev'n now my heart beats high, I languish for thee,
My transports are as fierce, as strong my wishes,
As if thou ne'er hadst blest me with thy beauty.
CAL. How didst thou dare to think that I would live
A slave to base desires, and brutal pleasures,
To be a wretched wanton for thy leisure,
To toy, and waste an hour of idle time with? 61
My soul disdains thee for so mean a thought. 80
LOTH. The driving storm of passion will have way,
And I must yield before it. Wert thou calm,
Love, the poor criminal, whom thou hast doom'd,
Has yet a thousand tender things to plead,
To charm thy rage, and mitigate his fate.
Enter behind them ALTAMONT.
ALT. "I have lost my peace"—Ha! do I live and wake?
CAL. Hadst thou been true, how happy had I been!
Not Altamont, but thou, hadst been my lord.
But wherefore nam'd I happiness with thee?
It is for thee, for thee, that I am curst;
For thee my secret soul each hour arraigns me,
Calls me to answer for my virtue stain'd,
My honour lost to thee: for thee it haunts me;
With stern Sciolto vowing vengeance on me:
With Altamont complaining for his wrongs—
ALT. The wretch! whom thou hast made.
Curses and sorrows hast thou heaped upon him, 99
LOTH. Thou hast ta'en me somewhat unawares, 'tis true:
But love and war take turns, like day and night,
And little preparation serves my turn,
Equal to both, and arm'd for either field.
We've long been foes, this moment ends our quarrel! 62
Earth, Heav'n, and fair Calista judge the combat!
CAL. Distraction! Fury! Sorrow! Shame! and death!
"ALT. Thou hast talked too much, thy breath is poison to me;
"It taints the ambient air; this for my father,
"This for Sciolto, and this last for Altamont."
LOTH. Oh, Altamont! thy genius is the stronger!
Thou hast prevail'd!—My fierce ambitious soul
Declining droops, and all her fires grow pale;
Yet let not this advantage swell thy pride,
I conquered in my turn, in love I triumph'd.
Those joys are lodg'd beyond the reach of fate;
That sweet revenge comes smiling to my thoughts,
CAL. And what remains for me, beset with shame,
Encompassed round with wretchedness? There is 120
But this one way to break the toil, and 'scape.
ALT. What means thy frantic rage?
CAL. Off! let me go.
ALT. Oh! thou hast more than murder'd me! yet still,
Still art thou here! and my soul starts with horror,
At thought of any danger that may reach thee.
CAL. Think'st thou I mean to live? to be forgiv'n? 63
Oh, thou hast known but little of Calista!
If thou had'st never heard my shame, if only
The midnight moon and silent stars had seen it,
I would not bear to be reproach'd by them,
But dig down deep to find a grave beneath,
And hide me from their beams.
SCIOLTO within. What, ho! my son!
"ALT. It is Sciolto calls; come near and find me;
"The wretched'st thing of all my kind on earth."
CAL. Is it the voice of thunder, or my father?
Madness! Confussion! let the storm come on,
Let the tumultuous roar drive all upon me;
Dash my devoted bark, ye surges, break it! 240
'Tis for my ruin that the tempest rises.
When I am lost, sunk to the bottom low,
Peace shall return, and all be calm again.
Enter SCIOLTO.
SCI. Ev'n now Rossano leap'd the garden wall—
Ha! Death has been among you—Oh, my fears!
Last night thou had'st a diff'rence with thy friend,
The cause thou gav'st me was a damn'd one,
Did'st thou not wrong the man who told thee truth?
Answer me quick——
ALT. Oh! press me not to speak;
Ev'n now my heart is breaking, and the mention
Will lay me dead before you. See that body,
And guess my shame: my ruin! Oh, Calista!
SCI. It is enough! but I am slow to execute,
And justice lingers in my lazy hand; 64
Thus let me wipe dishonour from my name,
And cut thee from the earth, thou stain to goodness—
ALT. Stay thee, Sciolto, thou rash father, stay.
Or turn the point on me, and through my breast
Cut out the bloody passage to Calista: 160
So shall my love be perfect, while for her
I die, for whom alone I wish'd to live.
CAL. No, Altamont; my heart that scorn'd thy love,
Shall never be indebted to thy pity.
Thus torn, defac'd, and wretched as I seem,
Still I have something of Sciolto's virtue.
Yes, yes, my father, I applaud thy justice;
Strike home, and I will bless thee for the blow:
Be merciful, and free me from my pain;
'Tis sharp, 'tis terrible, and I could curse
The cheerful day, men, earth, and heav'n, and thee,
Ev'n thee, thou venerable good old man,
For being author of a wretch like me.
ALT. Listen not to the wildness of her raving:
Remember nature! Should thy daughter's murder
Defile that hand, so just, so great in arms,
Her blood would rest upon thee to posterity,
Pollute thy name, and sully all thy wars.
CAL. Have I not wrong'd his gentle nature much?
And yet behold him pleading for my life! 180
Lost as thou art to virtue, Oh, Calista!
I think thou can'st not bear to be outdone;
Then haste to die, and be oblig'd no more.
SCI. Thy pious care has giv'n me time to think, 65
And sav'd me from a crime; then rest, my sword;
To honour have I kept thee ever sacred,
Nor will I stain thee with a rash revenge.
But mark me well, I will have justice done:
Hope not to bear away thy crimes unpunish'd:
I will see justice executed on thee,
Ev'n to a Roman strictness; and thou, nature,
Or whatsoe'er thou art that plead'st within me,
Be still; thy tender strugglings are in vain.
CAL. Then am I doom'd to live, and bear your triumph?
To groan beneath your scorn and fierce upbraiding,
Daily to be reproach'd, and have my misery
At morn, at noon, at night told over to me,
"Lest my remembrance might grow pitiful,
"And grant a moment's interval of peace;"
Is this, is this the mercy of a father? 200
I only beg to die, and he denies me,
SCI. Hence, from my sight! thy father cannot bear thee;
Fly with thy infamy to some dark cell,
Where, on the confines of eternal night,
Mourning, misfortune, cares, and anguish dwell;
Where ugly shame hides her opprobrious head,
And death and hell detested rule maintain;
There howl out the remainder of thy life,
And wish thy name may be no more remember'd.
CAL. Yes, I will fly to some such dismal place,
And be more curs'd than you can wish I were;
This fatal form that drew on my undoing, 66
Fasting, and tears, and hardship shall destroy;
Nor light, nor food, nor comfort will I know,
Nor ought that may continue hated life.
Then, when you see me meagre, wan, and chang'd,
Stretch'd at my length, and dying in my cave,
On that cold earth I mean shall be my grave,
Perhaps you may relent, and sighing say,
At length her tears have wash'd her stains away;
At length 'tis time her punishment should cease;
SCI. Who of my servants wait there?
Enter two or three Servants.
Raise that body, and bear it in. On your lives,
Take care my doors be guarded well, that none
ALT. There is a fatal fury in your visage,
It blazes fierce, and menaces destruction.
"My father, I am sick of many sorrows,
"Ev'n now my easy heart is breaking with 'em;
"Yet, above all, one fear distracts me most;"
I tremble at the vengeance which you meditate
On the poor, faithless, lovely, dear Calista.
SCI. Hast thou not read what brave Virginius did?
With his own hand he slew his only daughter,
To save her from the fierce Decemvir's lust,
He slew her, yet unspotted, to prevent
The shame which she might know. Then what should I do? 67
But thou hast ty'd my hand,—I wo' not kill her;
Yet, by the ruin she has brought upon us, 240
The common infamy that brands us both,
She shall not 'scape.
ALT. You mean that she shall die then?
SCI. Ask me not what, nor how I have resolv'd,
For all within is anarchy and uproar.
Oh, Altamont! What a vast scheme of joy
Has this one day destroy'd! Well did I hope
This daughter would have blest my latter days;
That I should live to see you the world's wonder,
So happy, great, and good that none were like you,
While I, from busy life and care set free,
Had spent the evening of my age at home,
Among a little prattling race of yours:
There, like an old man, talk'd a-while, and then
Laid down and slept in peace. Instead of this,
Sorrow and shame must bring me to my grave—
"Oh, damn her! damn her!"
Enter a Servant.
SERV. Arm yourself, my lord:
Rossano, who but now escaped the garden,
Has gather'd in the street a band of rioters, 260
Who threaten you and all your friends with ruin,
SCI. By Heav'n, their fury rises to my wish,
Nor shall misfortune know my house alone,
But thou, Lothario, and thy race shall pay me 68
For all the sorrows which my age is curs'd with.
I think my name as great, my friends as potent,
As any in the state; all shall be summoned;
I know that all will join their hands to ours,
And vindicate thy vengeance. When our force
Is full, and arm'd, we shall expect thy sword
"ALT. There is a stupid weight upon my senses;
"A dismal sullen stillness, that succeeds
"The storm of rage and grief, like silent death,
"After the tumult and the noise of life.
"Would it were death, as sure 'tis wond'rous like it,
"For I am sick of living; my soul's pall'd,
"She kindles not with anger or revenge:
"Love was th' informing, active fire within: 280
"Now that is quench'd, the mass forgets to move,
"And longs to mingle with its kindred earth."
Enter LAVINIA with two Servants, their swords drawn.
LAV. Fly, swiftly fly; to my Horatio's aid,
Nor lose your vain officious cares on me;
Bring me my lord, my husband, to my arms;
He is Lavinia's life; bring him me safe,
ALT. Art thou Lavinia? Oh? what barb'rous hand
Could wrong thy poor defenceless innocence, 69
And leave such marks of more than savage fury?
LAV. My brother! Oh, my heart is full of tears;
Perhaps ev'n now my dear Horatio bleeds—
Not far from hence, as passing to the port,
By a mad multitude we were surrounded.
Who ran upon us with uplifted swords,
And cry'd aloud for vengeance, and Lothario.
My lord, with ready boldness, stood the shock,
To shelter me from danger; but in vain,
Had not a party from Sciolto's palace
Rush'd out, and snatch'd me from amidst the fray.
ALT. What of my friend? 301
He lives, he comes to bless me, he is safe!—
Enter HORATIO, with two or three Servants, their swords drawn.
1ST. SER. 'Twere at the utmost hazard of your life
To venture forth again, till we are stronger:
Their number trebles ours.
HOR. No matter, let it;
Death is not half so shocking as that traitor.
My honest soul is mad with indignation,
To think her plainness could be so abus'd,
As to mistake that wretch, and call him friend;
I cannot bear the sight.
ALT. Open, thou earth,
Gape wide, and take me down to thy dark bosom,
To hide me from Horatio.
HOR. Oh, Lavinia! 70
Believe not but I joy to see thee safe?
Would our ill fortune had not drove us hither:
I could ev'n wish we rather had been wreck'd
On any other shore, than sav'd on this. 320
LAV. Oh, let us bless the mercy that preserv'd us,
That gracious pow'r that sav'd us for each other:
And, to adorn the sacrifice of praise,
Offer forgiveness too; be thou like Heav'n,
And put away th' offences of thy friend,
Far, far from thy remembrance.
"ALT. I have mark'd him,
"To see if one forgiving glance stole hither:
"If any spark of friendship were alive,
"That would by sympathy at meeting glow,
"And strive to kindle up the flame a-new;
"'Tis lost, 'tis gone; his soul is quite estrang'd,
"And knows me for its counterpart no more.
"HOR. Thou know'st thy rule, thy empire in Horatio;
"Nor canst thou ask in vain, command in vain,
"Where nature, reason, nay, where love is judge;
"But when you urge my temper to comply
"With what it most abhors, I cannot do it.
"LAV. Where didst thou get this sullen gloomy hate?
"It was not in thy nature to be thus; 340
"Come, put it off, and let thy heart be cheerful,
"Be gay again, and know the joys of friendship,
"The trust, security, and mutual tenderness,
"The double joys, where each is glad for both; 71
"Friendship, the wealth, the last retreat and strength,
"Secure against ill fortune, and the world."
HOR. I am not apt to take a light offence.
But patient of the failings of my friends,
And willing to forgive; but when an injury
Stubs to the heart, and rouses my resentment,
(Perhaps it is the fault of my rude nature)
I own, 1 cannot easily forgive it.
ALT. Thou hast forgot me.
HOR. No.
ALT. Why are thy eyes
Impatient of me then, scornful, and fierce?
HOR. Because they speak the meaning of my heart;
Because they're honest, and disdain a villain.
ALT. I've wrong'd thee much, Horatio.
HOR. True, thou hast. 360
When I forget it, may I be a wretch,
Vile as thyself, a false perfidious fellow,
An infamous, believing, British husband,
ALT. I've wrong'd thee much, and Heav'n has well aveng'd it.
1 have not since we parted, been at peace,
Nor known one joy sincere; "our broken friendship
"Pursu'd me to the last retreat of love,
"Stood glaring like a ghost, and made me cold with horror.
"Misfortunes on misfortunes press upon me,
"Swell o'er my head like waves, and dash me down;
"Sorrow, remorse, and shame, have torn my soul!
"They hang, like winter, on my youthful hopes, 72
"And blast the spring and promise of my year."
"LAV. So flow'rs are gathered to adorn a grave,
"To lose their freshness amongst bones and rottenness,
"And have their odours stifled in the dust,"
Canst thou hear this, thou cruel, hard Horatio?
Canst thou behold thy Altamont undone?
"That gentle, that dear youth! Canst thou behold him,"
His poor heart broken, death in his pale visage, 380
And groaning out his woes, yet stand unmov'd?
HOR. The brave and wise I pity in misfortune;
But when ingratitude and folly suffers,
'Tis weakness to be touch'd.
ALT. I wo' not ask thee
To pity or forgive me; but confess,
This scorn, this insolence of hate, is just;
'Tis constancy of mind, and manly in thee.
But, Oh! had I been wrong'd by thee, Horatio,
There is a yielding softness in my heart
Cou'd ne'er have stood it out; but I had ran,
With streaming eyes, and open arms, upon thee,
And press'd thee close, close!
HOR. I must hear no more,
Thy weakness is contagious; I shall catch it,
And be a tame, fond wretch.
LAV. Where would'st thou go?
Would'st thou part thus? you shall not, 'tis impossible;
For I will bar thy passage, kneeling thus.
Perhaps thy cruel hand may spurn me off, 400
But I will throw my body in thy way, 73
And thou shalt trample o'er my faithful bosom,
Tread on me, wound me, kill me, ere thou pass.
ALT. Urge not in vain thy pious suit, Lavinia,
I have enough to rid me of my pain.
Calista, thou hadst reach'd my heart before;
To make all sure, my friend repeats the blow:
But in the grave our cares shall be forgotten,
[LAVINIA runs to him, and endeavours to raise him.
"LAV. Speak to me, Altamont.
"He faints! he dies! Now, turn and see thy triumph!
"My brother! But our cares shall end together;
"Here will I lay me down by thy dear side.
"Bemoan thy too hard fate, then share it with thee,
"And never see my cruel lord again."
HOR. It is too much to bear! Look up, my Altamont!
My stubborn, unrelenting heart has killed him.
"Look up and bless me; tell me that thou liv'st.
"Do thou and my Lavinia both forgive me:" 420
A flood of tenderness comes o'er my soul;
I cannot speak—I love, forgive, and pity thee—
ALT. I thought that nothing could have stay'd my soul;
That long ere this her flight had reach'd the stars;
But thy known voice has lur'd her back again. 74
Methinks, I fain wou'd set all right with thee,
Make up this most unlucky breach, and then,
With thine and Heaven's forgiveness on my soul,
Shrink to my grave, and be at ease for ever.
HOR. By heav'n, my heart bleeds for thee; e'n this moment,
I feel thy pangs of disappointed love.
"Is it not pity that this youth should fall,
"That all his wond'rous goodness should be lost,
"And the world never know it? Oh, my Altamont!"
Give me thy sorrows, let me bear 'em for thee,
And shelter thee from ruin.
LAV. Oh, my brother,
Think not but we will share in all thy woes;
We'll sit all day, and tell sad tales of love:
And when we light upon some faithless woman, 440
Some beauty, like Calista, false and fair,
We'll fix our grief, and our complaining there!
We'll curse the nymph that drew the ruin on,
And mourn the youth that was, like thee, undone.
ACT V. SCENE I.
[edit]75
A Room hung with Black; on one side LOTHARIO's Body on a Bier; on the other a Table, with a Scull and other Bones, a Book and a Lamp on it.
CALISTA is discovered on a Couch, in Black; her Hair hanging loose and disordered. After soft Music, she rises and comes forward.
"SONG.
"Hear, you midnight phantoms, hear,
"You who pale and wan appear,
"And fill the wretch who wakes with fear;
"You, who wander, scream and groan
"Round the mansions once your own;
"You, who still your crimes upbraid;
"You who rest not with the dead;
"From the coverts where you stray,
"Where you lark and shun the day,
"From the charnel and the tomb,
"Hither haste ye, hither come.
"Chide Calista for delay,
"Tell her, 'tis for her you stay;
"Bid her die and come away.
"See the sexton with his spade,
"See the grave already made;
"Listen, fair one to thy knell,
"This music is thy passing bell."
CAL. 'Tis well! these solemn sounds, this pomp of horror, 76
Are fit to feed the frenzy in my soul. 20
Here's room for meditation ev'n to madness;
Till the mind burst with thinking. This dull flame
Sleeps in the socket. Sure the book was left
To tell me something;—for instruction then—
He teaches holy sorrow and contrition,
And penitence.—Is it become an art, then?
A trick that lazy, dull, luxurious gownmen
I have more real anguish In my heart,
Than all their pedant discipline e'er knew.
What charnel has been rifled for these bones?
Fie! this is pageantry;—they look uncouthly,
But what of that, if he or she that own'd 'em
Safe from disquiet sit, and smile to see
The farce their miserable relicts play?
But here's a sight is terrible indeed!
Is this that haughty, gallant, gay, Lothario,
That dear perfidious—Ah!—how pale he looks!
How grim with clotted blood, and those dead eyes!
Ascend, ye ghosts, fantastic forms of night, 40
In all your diff'rent dreadful shapes ascend,
And match the present horror, if you can.
Enter SCIOLTO.
SCI. This dead of night, this silent hour of darkness,
Nature for rest ordain'd, and soft repose; 77
And yet distraction, and tumultuous jars,
Keep all our frighted citizens awake:
"The senate, weak, divided, and irresolute,
"Want pow'r to succour the afflicted state.
"Vainly in words and long debates they're wise,
"While the fierce factions scorn their peaceful orders,
"And drown the voice of law in noise and anarchy."
Like Helen, in the night when Troy was sack'd,
Spectatress of the mischief which she made.
CAL. It is Sciolto! Be thyself, my soul;
Be strong to bear his fatal indignation,
That he may see thou art not lost so far,
But somewhat still of his great spirit lives
In the forlorn Calista.
SCI. Thou wert once 60
My daughter.
CAL. Happy were it I had dy'd,
And never lost that name.
SCI. That's something yet;
Thou wert the very darling of my age:
I thought the day too short to gaze upon thee,
That all the blessings I could gather for thee,
By cares on earth, and by my pray'rs to Heav'n,
Were little for my fondness to bestow;
Why didst thou turn to folly, then, and curse me?
CAL. Because my soul was rudely drawn from yours;
A poor imperfect copy of my father, 78
"Where goodness, and the strength of manly virtue,
"Was thinly planted, and the idle void
"Fill'd up with light belief, and easy fondness;"
It was, because I lov'd, and was a woman.
SCI. Hadst thou been honest, thou hadst been a cherubim;
But of that joy, as of a gem long lost,
Beyond redemption gone, think we no more.
Hast thou e'er dar'd to meditate on death? 80
CAL. I have, as on the end of shame and sorrow.
SCI. Ha! answer me! Say, hast thou coolly thought?
'Tis not the stoick's lessons got by rote,
The pomp of words, and pedant dissertations,
That can sustain thee in that hour of terror;
Books have taught cowards to talk nobly of it,
But when the trial comes, they stand aghast;
Hast thou considered what may happen after it?
How thy account may stand, and what to answer?
CAL. I've turn'd my eyes inward upon myself,
Where foul offence and shame have laid all waste;
Therefore my soul abhors the wretched dwelling,
And longs to find some better place of rest.
SCI. 'Tis justly thought, and worthy of that spirit
That dwelt in ancient Latian breasts, when Rome
Was mistress of the world. I wou'd go on,
And tell thee all my purpose; but it sticks
Here at my heart, and cannot find a way.
CAL. Then spare the telling, if it be a pain,
And write the meaning with your poignard here. 100
Thrice justice urg'd—and thrice the slackening sinews
Forgot their office, and confess'd the father.
At length the stubborn virtue has prevail'd,
And know the rest untaught.
CAL. I understand you.
It is but thus, and both are satisfy'd.
SCI. A moment, give me yet a moment's space.
The stern, the rigid judge has been obey'd;
Now nature, and the father, claim their turns.
I've held the balance with an iron hand,
And put off ev'ry tender human thought,
To doom my child to death; but spare my eyes
The most unnatural sight, lest their strings crack,
My old brain split, and I grow mad with horror.
CAL. Ha! is it possible; and is there yet
Some little dear remains of love and tenderness
For poor, undone Calista, in your heart?
SCI. Oh! when I think what pleasure I took in thee, 120
What joys thou gav'st me in thy prattling infancy,
Thy sprightly wit, and early blooming beauty;
How have I stood, and fed my eyes upon thee,
Then, lifting up my hands, and wond'ring, blest thee;
By my strong grief, my heart ev'n melts within me;
I could curse Nature, and that tyrant, honour, 80
For making me thy father, and thy judge;
Thou art my daughter still.
CAL. For that kind word,
Thus let me fall, thus humbly to the earth,
Weep on your feet, and bless you for this goodness.
Oh! 'tis too much for this offending wretch,
This parricide, that murders with her crimes,
Shortens her father's age, and cuts him off,
Ere little more than half his years be number'd.
SCI. Would it were otherwise—but thou must die.—
CAL. That I must die, it is my only comfort;
Death is the privilege of human nature,
And life without it were not worth our taking:
"Thither the poor, the prisoner, and the mourner, 140
"Fly for relief, and lay their burthens down."
Come then, and take me into thy cold arms,
Thou meagre shade; here let me breathe my last,
Charm'd with my father's pity and forgiveness,
More than if angels tun'd their golden viols,
And sung a requiem to my parting soul.
SCI. I'm summoned hence; ere this my friends expect me.
There is I know not what of sad presage,
That tells me, I shall never see thee more;
If it be so, this is our last farewel,
And these the parting pangs, which nature feels,
CAL. Now think, thou curst Calista, now behold
The desolation, horror, blood, and ruin, 81
Thy crimes and fatal folly spread around,
That loudly cry for vengeance on thy head;
Yet Heav'n, who knows our weak, imperfect natures,
How blind with passions, and how prone to evil,
Makes not too strict inquiry for offences
But is aton'd by penitence and pray'r: 160
Cheap recompence! here 'twould not be received,
Nothing but blood can make the expiation,
And cleanse the soul from inbred, deep pollution.
And see, another injur'd wretch is come,
To call for justice from my tardy hand.
Enter ALTAMONT.
ALT. Hail to you, horrors! hail, thou house of death;
And thou, the lovely mistress of these shades,
Whose beauty gilds the more than midnight darkness,
And makes it grateful as the dawn of day.
Oh, take me in, a fellow-mourner, with thee,
I'll number groan for groan, and tear for tear;
And when the fountain of thy eyes are dry,
Mine shall supply the stream, and weep for both.
CAL. I know thee well, thou art the injur'd Altamont;
Thou com'st to urge me with the wrongs I've done thee;
But know, I stand upon the brink of life,
And in a moment mean to set me free
From shame and thy upbraiding.
ALT. Falsely, falsely
Dost thou accuse me! When did I complain, 180 82
Or murmur at my fate? "For thee I have
"Forgot the temper of Italian husbands,
"And fondness has prevail'd upon revenge."
I bore my load of infamy with patience,
"As holy men do punishment from Heav'n;"
Nor thought it hard, because it came from thee.
Oh, then, forbid me not to mourn thy loss,
To wish some better fate had rul'd our loves,
And that Calista had been mine, and true.
CAL. Oh, Altamont! 'tis hard for souls like mine,
Haughty and fierce, to yield they've done amiss.
But, Oh, behold! my proud disdainful heart
Bends to thy gentler virtue. Yes, I own,
Such is thy truth, thy tenderness, and love;
"Such are the graces that adorn thy youth,"
That, were I not abandoned to destruction,
With thee I might have liv'd for ages bless'd,
And dy'd in peace within thy faithful arms.
ALT. Then happiness is still within our reach.
Here let remembrance lose our past misfortunes, 200
Tear all records that hold the fatal story;
Here let our joys begin, from hence go on,
In long successive order.
CAL. What! In death?
ALT. Then, art thou fix'd to die?—But be it so;
We'll go together; my advent'rous love
Shall follow thee "to those uncertain beings.
"Whether our lifeless shades are doom'd to wander
"In gloomy groves, with discontented ghosts;
"Or whether thro' the upper air we fleet, 83
"And tread the fields of light; still I'll pursue thee,"
'Till fate ordains that we shall part no more.
CAL. Oh, no! Heav'n has some other better lot in store
To crown thee with. Live, and be happy long;
Live, for some maid that shall deserve thy goodness,
Some kind, unpractis'd heart, that never yet
Has listen'd to the false ones of thy sex,
Nor known the arts of ours; she shall reward thee,
Meet thee with virtues equal to thy own,
Charm thee with sweetness, beauty, and with truth; 220
Be blest in thee alone, and thou in her.
Enter HORATIO.
HOR. Now, mourn indeed, ye miserable pair;
For now the measure of your woes is full.
ALT. What dost thou mean, Horatio?
HOR. Oh, 'tis dreadful!
The great, the good Sciolto dies this moment.
CAL. My father!
ALT. That's a deadly stroke, indeed.
HOR. Not long ago he privately went forth,
Attended but by few, and those unbidden.
I heard which way he took, and straight pursu'd him;
But found him compass'd by Lothario's faction,
Almost alone, amidst a crowd of foes.
Too late we brought him aid, and drove them back;
Ere that, his frantic valour had provok'd
The death he seem'd to wish for from their swords.
CAL. And dost thou bear me yet, thou patient earth?
Dost thou not labour with thy murd'rous weight?
And you, ye glitt'ring, heav'nly host of stars,
Hide your fair heads in clouds, or I shall blast you; 240
For I am all contagion, death, and ruin,
And nature sickens at me. Rest, thou world,
This parricide shall be thy plague no more;
HOR. Oh, fatal rashness!
ALT. Thou dost instruct me well. To lengthen life,
Is but to trifle now.
HOR. Ha! what means
The frantic Altamont? Some foe to man
Has breath'd on ev'ry breast contagious fury,
And epidemic madness.
Enter SCIOLTO, pale and bloody, supported by servants.
CAL. Oh, my heart!
Well may'st thou fail; for see, the spring that fed
The vital stream is wasted, and runs low.
My father! will you now, at last, forgive me,
If, after all my crimes, and all your suff'rings,
I call you once again by that dear name?
Will you forget my shame, and those wide wounds?
Lift up your hand, and bless me, ere I go
Down to my dark abode? 260
SCI. Alas, my daughter!
Thou hast rashly ventured in a stormy sea, 85
Where life, fame, virtue, all were wreck'd and lost.
But sure thou hast borne thy part in all the anguish,
And smarted with the pain. Then, rest in peace:
Let silence and oblivion hide thy name,
And save thee from the malice of posterity;
And may'st thou find with Heav'n the same forgiveness,
As with thy father here.—Die, and be happy.
CAL. Celestial sounds! Peace dawns upon my soul,
And ev'ry pain grows less—Oh, gentle Altamont!
Think not too hardly of me when I'm gone;
But pity me—Had I but early known
Thy wond'rous worth, thou excellent young man,
We had been happier both—Now, 'tis too late;
And yet my eyes take pleasure to behold thee;
ALT. Cold! dead, and cold! and yet thou art not chang'd,
But lovely still. Hadst thou a thousand faults,
What heart so hard, what virtue so severe, 280
But at that beauty must of force relented,
Melted to pity, love, and to forgiveness?
SCI. Oh, turn thee from that fatal object, Altamont,
Come near, and let me bless thee, ere I die.
To thee, and brave Horatio, I bequeath
My fortunes—Lay me by thy noble father,
And love my memory, as thou hast his;
For thou hast been my son—Oh, gracious Heav'n! 86
Thou that hast endless blessings still in store
For virtue, and for filial piety,
Let grief, disgrace, and want be far away;
But multiply thy mercies on his head.
Let honour, greatness, goodness, still be with him,
ALT. Take, take it all:
To thee, Horatio, I resign the gift,
While I pursue my father, and my love,
And find my only portion in the grave.
HOR. The storm of grief bears hard upon his youth,
And bends him, like a drooping flower, to earth. 300
By such examples are we taught to prove
The sorrows that attend unlawful love.
Death, or some worse misfortune, soon divide,
The injur'd bridegroom from his guilty bride,
If you would have the nuptial union last,
EPILOGUE.
[edit]EPILOGUE
You see the tripping dame could find no favour;
Dearly she paid for breach of good behaviour;
Nor could her loving husband's fondness save her.
Italian ladies lead but scurvy lives,
There's dreadful dealings with eloping wives:
Thus 'tis, because these husbands are obey'd
By force of laws, which for themselves they made.
With tales of old prescriptions they confine
The right of marriage-rules to their male line,
And huff and domineer by right divine.
Had we the pow'r, we'd make the tyrants know
What 'tis to fail in duties which they owe;
We'd teach the saunt'ring squire, who loves to roam,
Forgetful of his own dear spouse at home;
Who snores, at night, supinely by her side;
'Twas not for this the nuptial knot was ty'd.
The plodding petty-fogger, and the cit,
Have learn'd, at least, this modern way of wit,
Each ill-bred, senseless rogue, tho' ne'er so dull,
Has th' impudence to think his wife a fool;
He spends the night, where merry wags resort,
With joking dubs, and eighteen-penny port;
While she, poor soul, 's contented to regale,
By a sad sea-coal fire, with wigs and ale.
Well may the cuckold-making tribe find grace, EPILOGUE
And fill an absent husband's empty place.
If you wou'd e'er bring constancy in fashion,
You men must first begin the reformation.
Then shall the golden age of love return,
No turtle for her wandering mate shall mourn;
No foreign charms shall cause domestic strife,
But every married man shall toast his wife;
Phillis shall not be to the country sent,
For carnivals in town to keep a tedious Lent;
Lampoons shall cease, and envious scandal die,
And all shall live in peace, like my good man and I.